By Jackson’s Hand

[Steve]

i am by jackson's hand
beneath my ohio dirt top coat
there is a riot 'o'
blue red
grey
black tan
purple-
his 3 fifths a night
walking down neon day lit streets
that were darker to him than closed eyes in the desert, his lips in december new york,
all his bruise sky life filled with western soils
navajo red sores and fading coral scars-

i walk on hands with mile long fingers
see with denial heaven eyes
think with a mind of
swirls
insectual writhing
drips inch thick

i am from jackson's fear
behind my rain fell clay eyes
there is hurt of infinite kind

but you are world
world adored
jackson,
found what left his hand beautiful
and
you
tell me of my beauty
so i must say
thanK yUo
jackson.

and Nikhe
i will live out these
colours
brush strokes
drunken fears as much a part
of me as these dead clay eyes,
on whichever wall you desire.